Talk:WTMD Goodnight EXP and Journal/@comment-35698970-20181221233911
Whistle This town has whispers and madness but it is not of your voice. It makes me worry, and I worry of this corruption, this foul slithering that coats life in this place and makes it something I cannot understand. Soon enough will all be torn asunder, and where people are, often life is crippled, but in this town the life is twisted into something I do not like. I need to see more, smell more, feel more, understand more. From the corner of my eye something creeps closer. I have been prey before and know that chill of being watched, the waiting from above, from the shadows. I saw something, oh great madness, that slithered and wriggled and poisoned the earth. It made what was right not right. It made what lived twisted and ugly. I do not like it and with the purifying light of the moon I tore it apart. As it ripped, burbled and burned, I imagined it was my own claws sinking in and destroying it but I know it was not so. I hate it. Whatever it is. I think it has something to do with my reason here. There were many people in the smelly tavern and they grew tense as prey at the snap of a twig at the mention of concern, at the heart of this place and your heart in this place and those who should tend the sacred were quiet and waiting and so I had to become quiet and waiting. Death is such a pretty thing. But today I reached for death in your name, to cleanse and the satisfaction felt foul as something slithered away. I tried to hunt where it slithered and hid like a smoke filled slug, but it was two and it escaped. This place is hiding it. The horses seem polite. The carriage is open and inviting but I don't trust it. Something about it is strange. I looked at it earlier and nothing was amiss but there is something about it that makes me want to tear it apart. Is this your touch sweet matron? Are you reaching through already and confusing my mind? This place has many dangers, there is blood soaking the grounds and fear in the eyes of its people. They huddle and hide like mice. But that is normal isn't it? Towns are the warren of mice that people hide in. No this place IS strange and there are things here, strange unwelcome things. Things to hunt and find and bleed and kill. And so too is this. I must plant flowers in your garden. And something here is stopping the flowers, so I must kill it and then the flowers will grow and I will move on and that is that. And that is that is that is that. Oh! And there were people! A dwarf who smelled of onions, a quiet one with fangs, the carriage man and the woman who makes light. The woman who makes light is here in the hay and she looks down on me when she speaks, like the fiercest mouse that ever was. We hunted together, this group of people, like wolves. Perhaps they are not mice. Perhaps tomorrow we will hunt the same path again. It would be nice not have to hunt alone.